


Truly, Madly, Deeply

by AlwaysKatie7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKatie7/pseuds/AlwaysKatie7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron gets hurt on the job...Hermione, naturally, panics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly, Madly, Deeply

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2013. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

She should have _known_ as soon as he was a half-hour late. Ron was never late. Not after being gone on a long mission. He knew she worried, and would so even more if he wasn’t home within a ten minute span of when he had said he would be. But tonight his delay had slipped by her.... She supposed it was because she’d relaxed over the years, years when he always showed up on time. No longer did she wait up anxiously in the sitting room, too jumpy to do anything but glance up at the clock above the mantel every few minutes until he got home. She hardly even flooed Ginny to calm her nerves anymore. Anticipation had withered down to an expectation that her husband would show up, perhaps a bit beat up, with a few more bruises and cuts than usual, but always whole and relatively unscathed, right when the due hour struck. 

Tonight, however, she’d been distracted at the hands of a book which, for once, had nothing to do with work. Even she drew the line at working after a certain hour. The novel, a crime drama her mother had recommended, called “The Cuckoo’s Calling,” had had her completely enthralled. Hermione loved a good mystery, particularly the one’s even she couldn’t predict (a difficult feat, given her personal experience with unraveling clues and seeking out answers). She had to admit, however, that her mother had been right about this muggle author Robert Galbraith. He was talented, his tactful twists surprising her more than once. She’d been so engrossed in the story that she hadn’t even thought it was strange that Ron wasn’t home right at one, like he had told her he would be. She hadn’t even noticed, actually, until the ringing of the phone had torn her from the books pages, and she’d looked at her watch in a sudden panic. It was nearly two. 

Phone calls were never good at such an hour. In fact, being a witch, Hermione rarely used the phone even during the day, except to ring her parents. She snatched up her shorts and t-shirt, which were still lying on her bedroom floor from when she’d changed into her nightgown, and began pulling them on clumsily before she’d even answered the phone. She hoped it was Ron, calling to tell her why he was late, that he was on his way, not to worry (for she had forced him to get a cell phone, much to his dismay, in case of emergencies). It was Harry. Her heart sank. 

“Hermione?”

“Harry?” She replied, her voice coming out much higher than usual, betraying her panic. “Harry where are you? Where’s Ron?” 

There was a long pause on the other end. Hermione stopped zipping up her shorts to sit on the edge of the bed, dreading what was next. But she had to know. He couldn’t be--. She thought of Rose and Hugo, fast asleep in their rooms. But no, if it was that, she wouldn’t be told over the phone. It couldn’t be that. Her voice came out hoarse, much less assertive than intended. “Harry James Potter, you best tell me what’s going on right now.” 

Finally she heard his voice come in from the other end of the line. “Hermione...look, stay calm, but you better come to St. Mungo’s.” Hermione dropped the phone. This couldn’t be happening. Her husband was in the hospital, in who knows what condition, and all Harry could say is that she should “stay calm”! He’d been an auror for years. He had all the experience, all the training. This shouldn’t be happening. Her mind again flashed to the kids. This couldn’t be happening now. 

She had to get to St. Mungo’s. 

Fully dressed and pulling on sandals as she stumbled through the dark down the hall, Hermione clamored into Rose’s room, turning on the lamp next to her little girl’s frilly bed. Carefully, she shook the child awake. Rose was slow to raise her head, rubbing her eyes furiously before they landed on her mother, kneeling beside her. “Is it morning?” She whispered, clearly confused, “Is Daddy home yet?” Instantly the little girl perked up, as if remembering just then that her father was supposed to be home today. 

“No...no he’s not home yet,” Hermione said gently, trying her hardest to keep her voice from breaking. “It’s still very late. But Rosie, we’re going to go on a bit of trip. You’ve got to get up.” 

She handed Rose her purple robe, strewn across the rug. The child groggily tugged it on, then reached around for her favorite stuffed bear, resting against her pillow. Ron had given it to her for her first birthday, and she loved it even now. “Where are we going?” 

“You and Hugo are going to Aunt Ginny’s. Wait here while I go wake him.” Hermione transferred over to the room next door. Hugo, at four, was actually the harder of the two to break away from sleep. By the time she got him up, with his shoes on ready to go, it was already much too late for her liking. 

It didn’t help that she had to drive to Ginny’s, but with Hugo still so young, she was afraid to have him use the floo...and side-along apparation was always a last resort only. She had no choice. The Potters didn’t live far away, but the drive seemed to take hours. Hugo had already fallen back asleep in his car seat. Rose kept pelting her with questions. Under normal circumstances, Hermione appreciated her daughter’s curiosity and ability to pick up on when things were out of sorts...but in that particular moment, the questions only heightened her anxiety. “Rose, your brother’s sleeping.” The girl must have sensed her tone, because she fell silent. 

When they arrived, Ginny and the kids weren’t home. Harry, obviously, must have called her as well. Hermione let out a groan of frustration. No one else in the family lived close by, and Ron could be getting worse by the minute. She wished she had gotten more information out of Harry on the phone, but it was too late now. The kids would just have to come with her. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were an odd bunch: Hermione, wide-eyed and fully clothed, carrying her sleeping son in his favorite owl footie pajamas, flanked by a yawning Rose, bushy red hair exploding around her face and stuffed animal in hand, walking shakily towards the hospital lift. Hermione was now so frazzled she could barely click the right button. By this hour, St. Mungo’s seemed like a ghost town. They couldn’t have run into more than two healers on the long walk to the back of the floor, where the lady at the front desk said the correct waiting room was. Sure enough, when they rounded the corner, Harry and Ginny appeared, seated in two of the uncomfortable-looking black waiting chairs, intertwined hands resting on the silver armrest. 

“Where are _your_ kids?” Hermione asked, not meaning to sound so bitter as she carefully set down Hugo across a few of the chairs. 

“George and Angelina’s,” Ginny responded. “Hermione--” 

“Where’s Ron?” She cut in. She was here. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. 

“We aren’t allowed to see him yet,” Harry said sincerely, eyes laced with pity and something like guilt as he looked up at Hermione. 

“I’m his wife. Certainly I get--”

But Harry and Ginny were shaking their heads and telling her it didn’t matter who she was, no one was allowed to see him yet. Hermione rounded on the lady behind the desk instead. “Hermione Weasley. I want to see my husband.”   
The woman seemed generally unfazed by her sharp tone. “As soon as Healer Andrews approves visitors we can make that happen. Until then, I suggest you take a seat,” she answered back calmly. Hermione was about to argue when Rose interrupted from the middle of the room, gripping her bear tightly.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?” 

Hermione moved to kneel in front of her daughter. The girl’s eyes seemed unnaturally wide, her many freckles standing out sharply on her pale skin, and her mouth set in a deep frown. She was clearly concerned. “Daddy got hurt at work,” Hermione said carefully. “But healers are fixing him right now. I bet if you try and go to sleep, when you wake up, you’ll be able to see him.” She led the six year old to the row of chairs next to Hugo and conjured up a blanket and pillow for each of them. Rose didn’t seem convinced, but, obviously tired, she heeded her mother’s advice. Hugo was asleep in minutes. 

The lady at the desk had turned back to her paperwork. Hermione slumped down into the extra seat next to Harry. “What happened?” She asked steadily. She wanted to know what was going on once and for all  
.  
“Hermione, you know I’m not allowed to talk about our missions.” Hermione _did_ know. She knew all too well, because it frustrated her to no end. As aurors, much of Harry and Ron’s field work was confidential until the case was all said and done, with the opposition captured and ready for trial. She never knew how much danger the boys were in until it was over. 

“You don’t have to tell me the who or the where. You just have to tell me what. Happened. To. My. Husband.” She turned to look him directly in the eye.

Harry met her gaze. “I don’t know the whole story. I was...away, doing another job. Ron was leading the rest of the team, and one of the new guys messed up, decided to take a foolish risk without mapping out the situation or consulting anyone else. He broke away from the group and Ron had to go save his ass, and, well...Hermione, he’s beaten up pretty badly.” 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Her mouth seemed unusually dry, all of a sudden. All of her old fears came rushing back, not only from his early career days but even as far back as the war, when she had had to worry about him being snatched away from her at any moment, whenever she least expected it. She wanted to cry, or scream, or pinch herself to wake up from this nightmare. “Well is he going to be okay?” She managed to croak. This time, Ginny answered.

“The healer came out right when I first got here and said they’ve got some work to do, but he should be alright.” The redhead turned as if to comfort her sister-in law, but Hermione jumped up immediately, muttering something about needing air, and quickly left the room, angrily swiping her hand across her eyes. 

She ended up in the loo, tears that could no longer be held in flooding silently down her face in what seemed to be an endless stream. Ron had to be alright, she refused to believe otherwise. She tried to remember the last time she had seen him...a week ago, before he’d left. He had interrupted her typical speech about staying safe and not doing anything rash (which, clearly, he hadn’t been listening to) with a deep kiss. She had made everyone pancakes for breakfast, and afterwards Hugo and Rose had followed him all the way up the front drive, insisting they were coming with him. When she had pulled them away, they’d all stood in the lawn waving until he had disapparated from sight. All she wanted was the chance to have so many more mornings like that with him. She needed him to be okay.

Ginny came to fetch her not too long after, to console her into coming back into the waiting room, where they sat all in a row, silently, until morning. No one bothered to suggest to the others that they should get some sleep, knowing that that wasn’t an option for any of them. Instead they waited up in mutual silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and not a word uttered until eight a.m., when Ginny suggested she go tell the rest of the family that Ron was in the hospital. After she had left, Harry moved to fill her now vacant seat next to Hermione. 

“How are you doing?” He asked cautiously. 

“How do you think?”

“Ron’s going to be fine.” 

Hermione turned to look her best friend in the eye and finally voiced the fear that had been nagging at her. “What if he’s not?” 

“He will be,” Harry answered assuredly, though she could still sense his hesitance. He was worried too. 

Silence. 

“Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione jumped at the noise. Healer Andrews was in the doorway. A burly, imposing sort of man, Hermione was taken slightly aback at the kind smile he wore. “I’d like to speak to you.” 

For someone who normally absorbed every ounce of knowledge she possibly could, Hermione barely heard the healer as he explained the work they’d been doing on Ron. Certain words from his speech stood out amongst the complex medical terminology:“two broken ribs,” “minor spell damage,” “full recovery”... _Full recovery._ He was going to be fine. She had to stop herself from laughing in relief. 

“Can I see him?”

Healer Andrews nodded and started to lead her down the hallway. “You and your family can visit until noon. After that you’ll have to abide by our regular visiting hours. I expect Ron will have to stay for a least a few more days.” He stopped at a doorway on the right. Ron’s name was labeled on the outside in gold lettering. “He may still be drowsy from the medication. I’ll leave you two alone.” As the man began walk back up the other direction, Hermione braced herself and pushed inside.

The first thing she noticed was the long gash running down his arm, which was hanging loosely off the edge of the tiny hospital bed. His whole lower half was covered by white sheets. She continued her trail upwards. He was wearing the loose clothes St Mungo’s provided, and she made a mental note to go fetch his pajamas for him later. Underneath the thin layer of fabric, Hermione could tell his whole torso was wrapped in bulky bandages. He was sleeping, his red hair standing out drastically against the white of his pillow. She started crying just from looking at him, at his face, which, thankfully, seemed undamaged but for a thin cut across his lip and another along his eyebrow. She collapsed ungracefully into the gray, thinly cushioned armchair next to his bed and reached out for his hand. 

She pulled her eyes away from him to look around the rest of the room. The amount of potions set out on the bedside table made her cringe and grip his hand harder. Luckily, he wasn’t yet sharing the room with anyone else, though an empty bed and armchair awaited the next patient and visitor on the other side of the room. The blue curtain that could be used to separate the two was pulled all the way back. In between, a back screen listed off things like blood pressure and heart rate. It seemed like she sat there forever. 

“Hermione--” a familiar voice croaked eventually, “You’re strangling my hand.” 

Hermione yelped at sound and turned from looking at the screen to looking at her husband, loosening her grip. “Ron,” she breathed, dropping his hand altogether in exchange for flinging herself at him in a makeshift hug, trying to avoid pressing down too roughly on his bandages. “Oh Ron, I was so scared,” she admitted weepily, pulling him as close as possible. She could feel his breath on her neck. It had never felt more comforting. 

“Mhm, I’m alright,” Ron said in response, attempting to pull himself into a sitting position, only to fall back down with a groan. “Well... I will be alright.” He offered her a weak smile, which Hermione ignored. 

“Do you need more pain potion? Or are you hungry? I could call in a healer, or try and get you some tea, or....” 

“Hermione, relax, would you. I don’t need you to do any of that for me. I just want to spend time with you.”  
This time, Hermione didn’t try to hide her wet eyes, Ron knew her too well for that. “I’ve missed you,” She whispered, leaning in for a long, gentle kiss. It had been too long since they’d kissed like that. When they finally pulled away, they simply looked at each other, soaking up everything they had been away from for a week. This time, Hermione wasn’t focused on his cuts but on the blue of his eyes that she loved so much, on the little grin he wore every time they touched. He was looking at her the same he had on their wedding day, like he was the luckiest man in the world. 

“Missed you too, love.”


End file.
